Those Moments
by The BatThing
Summary: Dick Grayson One Shot. When you go to college you'll get asked the same questions over and over: What are you going for? How are classes? How were finals? You learn to hate them very much. Imagine dropping out and having to answer those questions.


**Those Moments**

**By: Th****e BatThing**

Man, oh, man, and damn. It had been one of those days.

Dick Grayson felt far from productive. In fact, childish as it might seem, he just wanted to throw a tantrum. And not just some mild-ass tantrum, no he delighted in the idea of the terrible kind, the kind where you slam doors, kick and scream, hit inanimate objects, and maybe _think_ about breaking something.

Because tantrums are productive; they get things done.

No. No they didn't. But that didn't stop the twenty-two year old from at least _considering_ the option.

"And that's about the time she walked away from me! 'Cause nobody likes you when you're twenty three!" He was being dumb, jumping up and down, making his way across the room, twirling at times as he sang the line, his main mission: to get the remote. Flopping down on the couch, showing that he could care less about things like posture and good manners. "'Cause no one likes you when you're twenty-three."

He agreed with that part a lot. Not that he could really say: _Oh yes, I know all about being twenty-three_, because he still had a few months to go, but the general idea worked. Dick Grayson was in limbo, between teenager and adult, a time in life otherwise known as: _college_.

But, he wasn't even in college, so it wasn't like he could book himself in that category. He had told people who asked: _It just wasn't going for me. I thought a break might help, and maybe I'll go back_. Yes, things of that sort, things that he was supposed to say, but words never made him feel any more secure or proud of where he was in his life. He wasn't going anywhere most of the time, or, well, that's how he felt.

And … that woman. That self-righteous woman. Dick gave a stupid growl and glared at the ceiling. What a bitch! "What a jerk-off." He thought about his lame words and the returned to the conversation had just a few hours prior.

"_Dickie Grayson, is that you? Well. Bless America! How are you? How have you been?" _It was one of Bruce's ex girlfriends, or well, so she had said. The young man hardly remembered her face from the countless others. But he was good at acting like he did.

"_Hey! How are you doing?" _He made sure to sound thrilled and excited, even if he wasn't. He hated, _hated_ when people did this to him. You cross somebody you recognize at this age you always get the same questions.

_What year are you now?_

_How were finals?_

_Have you chosen a major yet?_

And usually, once they realized that Dick wasn't in college, they'd give him the same spiel. _Oh, I think taking a break is a good idea. How in the world are you supposed to know what you're going to do for the rest of your life? When I was your age …_ and then they'd tell about what mistakes they'd made in their careers, and Dick wouldn't care (but pretend like he did).

But this time had been different. The ex-girlfriend, Cathy, apparently hadn't gotten very far in life, and hadn't been able to experience social events wherein manners were used. Maybe she had been locked up in a room like a wild beast, and Dick ran into her on the night of the full moon. Either way, he was pretty damn sure she had been evil.

"_So, you __**have**__ to be in college by now – right? How's that going for you? Do you enjoy it?"_

"_Oh, I'm not taking classes this year. I dunno, sort of taking a break. I work some, not a lot of hours, but it works." _He had smiled, setting himself up for the long lecture on why that was a good choice, even if the person didn't think it was.

"_So, you're working?" _She had paused, looking like she might be in disbelief. "_And what else, hon?"_

"_Oh, not a lot, mostly just work."_

"…_Dick, what are you doing with your life?"_

At this point it was just awkward. What was he supposed to say? Forcing a grin and a shake of the head, he repeated. "_I'm working most of the time, and well, nothing too exciting."_

"_And what else?"_

Seriously? Seriously? Was she seriously asking this question again? What was she expecting him to say? Maybe change the story? Like maybe he'd smile and say: _Oh, ok, you win, I'm a dropout. I'm doing drugs, but I just started an AA group, so that problem is going swell. Oh, and a side of low-grade prostitution. I'm not ashamed of making the extra dollar. I'm not below that. _But, he hadn't been sarcastic, he had given the correct answer that just made him feel like he was rolling over and showing his belly. "_Hopefully I'll be going back to school, once I get things figured out."_

Cathy finally smiled and nodded, judging him up and down. "_I think Bruce would like that, don't you?"_

Dick didn't care what Bruce would like, but he refrained from telling her that much. He was about to say his goodbyes when a man walked over to Cathy and the woman quickly introduced him as her husband. "_Frank, this is Dickie Grayson – He's Bruce Wayne's …" _She struggled for the right word, but just changed the subject instead. "_We've been married for almost a year now." _She told Dick, flashing the ring.

Frank gave a dumb smile and held out his hand, shaking it with Dick's own. "_How were the finals, kid?"_

"_Oh honey!" _Cathy whispered, shaking her head to Frank. "_No. We don't need to bring that up. That's not necessary. No."_

The whole rest of the walk back to the apartment was a very bitter one, one where Dick hadn't been very nice to an old woman who smiled at him in kindness, or a man who told him merry Christmas. The young gypsy just replayed the conversation again and again, deciding he didn't like Cathy anymore. He was sick of people judging him just because he wasn't in college, and the next person who asked, was going to get the honest answer. _I dropped out._

Rolling over so he could better see the television, Dick flipped it on, finding a channel that suited him. South Park always made him feel better. And it was the Christmas special, even better. "Howdy-Hoooo." Dick mimicked, a smile creeping up.

"It's a mess."

The twenty-two-year-old jumped about a foot from the unexpected voice and whirled around to see Bruce standing just a few feet away. How he had gotten in was unknown, but Dick did know he wasn't happy about it. He would have complained, but the voices from the television were loud, and he realized what this looked like.

He was practically jobless. He was a drop out. And now Bruce caught him watching 'cartoons' at one in the morning. _Yeah_. Bruce was probably beaming with pride about this one. The gypsy shut of the television, blushing and shaking his head. "It's not a cartoon. It's South Park. Adult Swim and stuff. You know?"

"I don't care." It was an honest answer. Bruce didn't know about Adult Swim or South Park, and he didn't want to.

"I would be out, but … I was feeling under the weather." Oh, that was a lie. He would go out if he had a place to go, or friends to go grab a drink and conversation with. But currently all his grade-school friends were stupid, annoying, drunk-aholics. Which was fun sometimes, but not when you had work and people watching.

Nightwing duty wasn't for another hour, if he went. So, uh, yeah, that's why he was watching South Park.

"You could knock. It wouldn't kill you. Or, there's this great thing called a _phone_. It's sort of new, magical actually, I know you're not into those newfangled things, but you'd pick up real fast." Wow, he was being sarcastic with Bruce; this wasn't a smart thing to do. This was a really _dumb_ thing to do. But he couldn't help it! He was ashamed and embarrassed, and now Bruce was going to judge him just like Cathy.

Dick was a dropout, headed nowhere, who watched cartoons instead of going to parties with kids his age, doing things like getting drunk, or drugged, or just experimenting with some friendly, over the counter, pills that might cause fun and fantastical hallucinations. Or maybe some Robitussin couch syrup? He could bring that to a party and become the star for a short while. Stupid Dick. Silly Dick. Thilly ol'Thick.

"I didn't come to fight. I came because it's Christmas Eve, and Alfred wants you to come to the Manor." Bruce didn't sound lame, and he didn't look lame. But it was lame. They stood, facing each other for no more than a second, and then the billionaire turned away, headed for the door. "You're old enough to make your own decision, so we'll just leave it to you. If you're free, you can come."

"How thoughtful!" Dick answered in a pleasant tone, even if he wasn't feeling pleasant. He was feeling sarcastic, and it was showing. He wasn't shocked when Bruce closed the door and left for real. It wasn't just an act. The billionaire had better things to be doing then doing nothing with Dick.


End file.
